


Casual

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, mentions of being with other guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: Ian & Mickey have a good thing going. ‘Friends with benefits’ is a label that suits them just fine. There’s definitely no risk of either of them ever wanting more. It is what it is, and always will be, until they decide to move on. No risk at all. None. Zero.





	1. Simple

Ian Gallagher first met Mickey Milkovich the third time he came over to hang out with his friend Mandy at her house after a shift. He’d become fast friends with her since he began working at a local secondhand and overstock bookstore a couple months previous. They’d bonded not only over their shared experiences growing up in the South Side of Chicago, but the fact that they didn’t even like reading books, yet somehow managed to get recruited into selling them to people. Their boss was one of those do-gooder community leader types that loved extending employment opportunities to people in the neighborhood, no matter what their qualifications, or lack thereof. Part of the gig also included training to assist with after-school programs run in the adjacent building where all the outreach took place. It was a steady paycheck, and it did feel good to do something that really helped kids who grew up like they did get out of their shitty home lives for a handful of hours a week, and possibly push them into a brighter future.

They were halfway through a fat joint when the front door burst open with a loud bang, and Mandy startled in her seat next to Ian on the couch. He was much less capable of being surprised by sudden noises and people stomping into places, as he still lived at home in a chaotic small house packed to the brim with people with zero boundaries, notions of politeness, or subtleties of presence.

“‘Sup, skankoid,” the guy said to Mandy as he walked through the living room, barely glancing at Ian.

She sneered a simple one word greeting back. “Dickwad.”

Ian smiled in amusement and took the joint back for another hit, hearing another door slam shut down the hallway.

“That was my douchebag brother I told you about,” she told him, leaning forward to grab her beer.

“Cool,” he answered with a shrug. He’d seen the guy around the neighborhood growing up, but always managed to steer clear of him somehow. Everyone knew the Milkoviches were bad news. Some of the older brothers were big-ass bruisers, so Ian was kind of glad the one that Mandy still lived with was at least normal size. Ian could probably take him in a fight if need be.

They finally agreed on a movie to watch on Netflix, and her brother reappeared with a beer in hand about a quarter of the way in, shoving Mandy over and kicking his feet up on the table. By the time it ended, she had passed out, mouth agape as her head lolled on the back cushion she was sunk into.

Ian awkwardly looked around her and gave a small wave. “I’m Ian, by the way. Ian Gallagher.”

In return he got a sort of high-eyebrowed blank stare, and a curt look away. “Mickey.”

Ian looked at Mandy’s limp form, doubting she’d reanimate anytime soon, and wondered what the least weird way to exit would be. It seemed like he should make a little small talk or something while he finished his beer, because the silence was stifling, and Mickey was making no move toward the remote so that they could have another audio-visual distraction to focus on.

“Mandy’s told me a lot about you,” he found himself saying stupidly.

Mickey snorted. “Why?”

Ian didn’t really know how to respond to that. “Uhhh, I don’t know. We sorta talk about everything. Most of our shifts at the center coincide, so we’re together a lot.”

Mickey did turn to look at him then. “Fascinating.”

Ian recoiled into himself a little at the brush-off and chugged the rest of his beer in one go. “Alright, I’ll get outta your hair,” he said, jumping up, and for some reason he turned back as he was opening the door. “Nice to meet you.”

Mickey was still looking at him like he was some kind of moronic leper, and he very quickly shut the door, closing his eyes and sighing to himself. “What the fuck was _that_?”

Suffice it to say, he didn’t think the likelihood of him and Mickey becoming friends was very high, but he hadn’t really thought much of it. He was just excited to have a close friend in Mandy now. He was usually shitty at making friends with compatible people. He was great at making dudes wanna bone him, but that was something different entirely. He was kind of sick of the fleeting nature of those connections. Even when he tried to date, instead of just bang, it was usually over within weeks, maybe a handful of months if he was lucky. Mandy was a safe, solid bet for true friendship. She was a chick, she understood that his dick was not an option, and there wasn’t an ounce of judgment between them, so they could tell each other anything. So what if he’d have to occasionally put up with her disgruntled brother? He used to think he needed everyone to like him, but now that he was older, he didn’t really care so much. You couldn’t please everybody.

He was surprised, to say the least, when the next time he was at the Milkovich house, Mickey hung out in the living room with them again, and Ian kept catching him looking over with hooded eyes. He was obviously high and tipsy, smoking cigarettes like a chimney, but he was definitely giving off extremely unexpected ‘fuck me’ vibes. It was very confusing.

Ian knew that Mickey was gay, but Mandy had explained that he was still halfway in the closet. He didn’t have too many hang-ups about it since their father had been put away for life in prison, but he was still guarded about it in the neighborhood, maintaining a carefully crafted persona he’d cultivated since childhood. Ian wasn’t a stranger to that kind of shit. Mandy definitely would’ve tried to hook them up if she thought they’d be any good together, but the idea was apparently so far-fetched that she’d never remotely suggested or alluded to it.

But there was no mistaking the unspoken signals. Ian was a fucking expert at reading attraction. He had nearly ten years of experience with it now. And Mickey was hot in a rough, no-nonsense kind of way. He had amazing deep blue eyes, a cute little pointy nose, pale skin that contrasted his natural black hair in a bewildering but striking way, a nice stocky kind of build, a plump ass he tried to hide under ill-fitting clothes, and the one time Ian had caught him in a genuine laugh, he’d appreciated his uncharacteristically dazzling bright smile. Ian could see himself hitting on him if they’d met at a bar or something, but he still couldn’t really reconcile the blatant ogling with the hostility he received whenever a conversation was happening. He wasn’t sure if he was down for a one-off hate-fuck with his best friend’s brother. That couldn’t possibly end well.

Still, the tipsier he got (Mandy kept shoving tequila shots at him all night), the more he kept staring back. Mickey had a distracting habit of licking his lips, and the way his hand curled around his cigarette with that ridiculous ‘FUCK’ tattoo on display across the knuckles really kind of did it for him.

He wasn’t at all shocked when he stepped out of the bathroom well past midnight, only to be shoved into a wall and given the intense once over by his silent admirer. Mickey had one hand on his shoulder, thumb resting against his neck, and the other on his hip, sort of right in the cut of his prominent oblique muscle.

“Can I help you?” Ian asked, amused.

“I don’t know,” replied Mickey, “can you?”

Ian’s brow furrowed. “You've spoken like three words to me, and now you’re tryin’ to fuck?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you gotta be wined and dined first like some bitch? I gotta pretend to be interested in all the stupid shit you say to get you horny?”

Ian snorted, slightly annoyed with his cock for stirring to life inside his pants. “I never said that, but this isn’t a fucking club or something. I’m here to hang out with your sister.”

Mickey shrugged. “So? What, this too easy a catch for you?”

Well, that was a good point, but then again, “I don’t wanna fuck up my friendship with Mandy.”

“The fuck’s that got to do with me?”

Ian gasped as the hand Mickey had on his waist slowly snaked lower, a smirk overtaking his features as he palmed at Ian’s thickening semi. “I mean that I don’t think randomly fucking her brother is gonna bring us closer together. I like hanging out here with her. Not gonna deal with you bein’ a prick to me later. I know your type.”

Mickey licked his lower lip, “I bet you do. But you ain’t movin’ away are you? Not askin’ me to stop.” His hand began moving more purposefully against Ian’s bulge, and he felt powerless as his eyes closed a little and he gulped.

“Your sister’s right around the fucking corner, dude. What, you wanna announce that we’re gonna take a quick fuck break? Be back in fifteen?”

“Fifteen?” Mickey raised one eyebrow. “Gotta be _at least_ thirty.”

Ian tittered, and finally grabbed a hold of Mickey’s hands, removing their grips and placing them against his own chest. “Maybe some other time.”

“Mm, hard to get’s gettin’ me hard, Gallagher.”

Ian pushed past him and practically dashed back to the sofa, where Mandy greeted him with drunken enthusiasm, as if he’d been gone for hours, rather than minutes. Mickey didn’t reappear for the rest of the night, and Ian stumbled his way home an hour later, mind on an incoherent loop full of that earlier come-on in the hallway.

Even in his inebriated state, he knew he was going to end up sleeping with Mickey. He didn’t know when, but it was inevitable.

  


A mere few nights later, he received a mysterious text from an unknown number, simply stating: _‘Mandy’s out bangin’ some dude. Wanna fuck?’_

Ian couldn’t help but laugh, even as a thrill ran through his body at the invitation. He debated screwing with Mickey via text, playing coy, and seeing what happened, but then he thought about how hot it would be to just show up and slam Mickey against the wall, and just give it to him good and hard.

Yeah, that would be better.

It was one of those rare times he was able to execute the fantasy exactly as he wanted to in reality. He wiped the cocky smirk right off Mickey’s face as soon as the front door was open, unceremoniously mashing their mouths together while kicking the door shut with his foot. Clothes were strewn everywhere as they made their hasty way to the bedroom with single-minded determination.

The sex was even hotter than Ian had anticipated. Sometimes guys like Mickey were so cursory with their fucking that it was lackluster, like the only point was an orgasm and they didn’t really care about the build-up or the details. But the chemistry between them was there from the get-go, and Mickey was responsive in all the ways that spurred Ian on to greater heights.

He didn't spend the night, but he knew that it would happen again.

As soon as he got home, he saved Mickey’s number in his phone and finally texted him back: _‘Booty call me anytime.’_ He added a tongue emoji for good measure and went to bed early, sated and relaxed.

He wasn’t sure if it would become a regular thing or not. Mickey was hard to read that way, but Ian had long ago given up trying to force things. He’d always had an unfortunate knack for falling for guys who didn’t reciprocate serious feelings, and being turned off by the ones who liked him too much, too soon. He was done embarrassing himself by chasing emotionally unavailable men. And Mickey had all the hallmarks of emotional unavailability and then some.

Apparently, he _did_ like reliable regular sex, though, and soon they were meeting up once a week, which turned into two or three times a week, which meant a friendship began to be forged along with the benefits. They weren’t able to keep it from Mandy for more than a couple weeks. It was pretty much impossible given their living situations. Ian never really had guys over to the Gallagher house, so they didn’t exactly have a lot of options unless they wanted to sneak around public spaces like guys who had to hide. And besides, Ian didn’t like keeping things from Mandy.

She didn’t understand what Ian saw in Mickey, so he tried to to explain. They were stocking shelves with newly donated books in the art section, casually discussing the arrangement, which was now a good handful of months in.

“I can’t explain to you the ways in which your brother is hot, and I don’t think you want me to go into detail about the amazing sex we’ve been having.”

She made a face, and agreed, “Please don’t.”

“And we’ve gotten comfortable with each other. We talk about shit. It’s nice.”

“ _Nice_?” she asked, voice positively dripping with incredulity. “No one in the history of ever has described Mickey, or any interaction with him, _nice_. He barely even talks to _me_ , and I’ve known him since birth.”

Ian chuckled. “What can I say? Even when you’re casual with someone, you’re gonna achieve certain levels of intimacy. Mickey’s no different.”

She turned from the shelf to level him with a serious look. “You know he’s never gonna give you what you want, right?”

“What do you mean?” asked Ian, shifting books so that they were alphabetized correctly.

“I mean that Mickey’s not ever going to be in a relationship with you, no matter how long you bang him. He’s not like us. Whatever we lacked growing up, and whatever shit our parents put us through, you and I never internalized it the same way Mickey did. He doesn’t want normal things like long-term boyfriends. I don’t even know if he’s capable of identifying the ‘love’ emotion. I don’t know if he’s ever even had a _crush_ on someone.”

Ian sighed. “You don’t think I know all that? Pillow talk is a helluva drug.”

She cackled. “Pillow talk? With _Mickey_?”

Ian nodded. “Yep. I know all about his fatalistic life philosophy on being forever alone in the world. It’s totally fine, Mands. We’re having fun. Your brother’s actually the perfect candidate for a fuck buddy, because of the fact that there’s no danger of anyone catching feelings. We know where we stand with each other. What we have is good. It doesn’t need to be more.”

She scowled a little. “Ian… I know you like to keep things simple and all, but I also know you’re totally a relationship guy. If you found the right person, you’d be totally into it, and you’d stop screwing around with other guys and the whole nine yards.”

“Maybe eventually. But it doesn’t have to be now, and it’s not gonna be with Mickey. If I meet someone I wanna date, I’ll date him. We’re both free to do whatever we want, with whoever, whenever. So stop worrying, and stop trying to lecture me. I promise you, my eyes are wide open.”

And they were. They really and truly were.

Ian would tell Mickey whenever he started seeing someone, and Mickey would sometimes tell Ian about some rando he banged. It was good to remind each other that they had lives outside of Mickey’s bedroom. That they could slow down or cool off sometimes. Ian would get an idea in his head every so often that he should maybe try to be a better guy to someone he saw potential with, and he’d tell Mickey they couldn’t see each other anymore. He’d encourage him to even get out there more himself. See what happened. Mickey would brush it off and wish him luck, and once Ian became inevitably disillusioned with whoever he was seeing, he’d go right back to texting Mickey for hook-ups. And he was never denied. Within a matter of hours, there he’d be, right back in Mickey’s bed, the sex even more on fire than he remembered.

“So… another one bites the dust, eh?” Mickey snarked at him once, when Ian had come crawling back after a 7-week affair. This routine was now over a year old.

Ian swatted him with the back of his hand, leaning over to reach for a shirt to wipe at the sweat on his forehead, then the cum on his belly. He tossed it over to Mickey, replying, “Lucky for you, I guess.”

“How’s that?” said Mickey, wiping himself down and reaching for his smokes.

“You get to ride this cock again, duh,” Ian answered, gesturing to his dick with a little flourish.

Mickey chortled, lighting up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Ian moved onto his side, and thwacked his now flaccid penis around on Mickey’s thigh. “Admit it, you could never send this bad boy packin’ for long.”

Mickey pushed him away, trying not to laugh too much with the cigarette hanging precariously off his lip. “Fuck off. Plenty of dick in the gay dick sea.”

Ian snickered and threw himself on top of Mickey, grabbing the smoke and taking a drag, then stubbing it out in the ashtray by the bed. “You missed it,” he said a little sing-songy. “You missed this good, deep dickin’.”

They were both laughing now, wrestling around. “God, your fuckin’ ego,” Mickey replied, smacking him on the cheek, then pinching his ass.

Ian yelped and got a hold of both of Mickey’s arms, pinning them above his head, then humping onto Mickey’s leg as his cock hardened once more.

“Again?” Mickey asked, eyebrows flying up toward his hairline like they did.

Ian didn’t say anything, just leaned down to initiate a dirty kiss, then snaked one hand down to fondle Mickey back to hardness too.

  


Suddenly, before anyone realized it, three whole years had gone by.

Three years, during which Ian’s comfort level with Mickey reached peak purity. It started to nag at him that anytime he was with someone else, some other guy he was trying out, something felt missing. He couldn’t talk to them the way he could talk to Mickey. Even when Ian was completely exasperated with some stupid-ass shitty opinion Mickey held that sparked one of their nagging spats, he still got a kind of kick out of it. He liked fighting with Mickey. It drove him up the wall, and sent his emotions soaring all over the place, until the only resolution he could usually think of was just shutting him up with a well-placed cock. Bickering with other guys was too full of complete misunderstanding to even be cute or exciting. Even when Ian vehemently disagreed with Mickey, he still understood where he was coming from and why he thought that way. It was like the subtle difference between a worthwhile debate and a pointless argument.

Ian couldn’t see the point with other guys.

He’d met some nice ones during that time, too; some he even fit well with in certain ways, but not _all_ of the ways, and none of them felt like the real deal. They all felt temporary… good enough for now, but definitely sporting a limited shelf life with an ever more imminent expiration date.

But what he had with Mickey never seemed to apply to that rule. It was so easy and uncomplicated. It was so ever-present. Ian could always count on him being there.

They’d long since gotten over themselves and had started doing a lot more than just holing up in Mickey’s room to fuck their brains out and have a laugh or two. They’d watch movies together, sometimes even get sucked into long TV show binges. They’d order in food and cuddle under a fucking blanket on the couch. Mandy was always rolling her eyes at their antics, baffled by their weird-ass friendship that never seemed to be affected by their casual sexual intimacy, and their constant relapses into banging between flings with the other guys that floated in and out of their lives like snow.

Ian never went home on the nights they spent together anymore. He always stayed over, so they could maximize their sex time. Overnights meant three or four rounds, as opposed to one or two, and why have less sex when you could have more? It was a logic thing.

He knew it was unconventional, but so fucking what? What did labels have to do with anything? They had no reason to conform to anyone’s standards or expectations. Mandy could smugly tease him that they’d end up married with babies all she wanted, but that didn’t make it true. Ian would just scoff and tell her she was crazy. He and Mickey weren’t like that. They didn’t feel that way about each other. It was just a lot of fun. One day she’d see… he’d meet some perfect guy, with all the perfect qualities he’d always envisioned the perfect guy having, and Ian would be whisked away to that fairytale ‘in love’ place people always waxed poetic about. He just wasn’t having much luck finding Mr. Perfect in the here and now. Right now, _this_ was what he had. What he was used to. What he expected. What he was comfortable with.

Mickey was a charming placeholder.

  


The Gallaghers were winding down an evening of partying at home when Ian’s older siblings dealt him a devastating blow. They were all drunk and high, but not so much so that anyone was acting crazy, or talking nonsense. Everyone else had finally gone to bed and their neighbors had gone back to their house, and the three of them were having one final beer before retiring upstairs. Ian was secretly thinking about texting Mickey to see if he’d be down for him to come crawl into his bed at 1:30 AM, but he’d yet to decide if it was a good idea or not.

Fiona was ranting about the latest douchebag she’d dated being secretly married with children, and Lip was snidely commenting about her need for a better bullshit radar.

“I mean, look who our fuckin’ parents are,” he told her. “We’ve been around people runnin’ cons our whole lives, and you can never see through these fuckin’ slimy guys and their line of bullshit.”

“Oh, excuse _me_ ,” retorted Fiona. “I don’t remember askin’ advice from the guy that got played for a fool by _Karen Jackson_ , the biggest slut in your year of high school. Or tell me about that time you were roped into that whole bizarre cuckold thing with your married professor?”

Lip puffed on the cigarette hanging from his mouth and gave her two middle fingers and a harsh glare.

Ian chuckled and swigged his beer. “You guys make me look like the one who has his shit together in the dating department.” Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because now he was being stared down by both of them, and they didn’t look very amused. “What?”

“Is that some kinda joke?” asked Lip.

“Uhhh, no?” he answered.

“Ian,” his sister began, “how many guys have you gone out with in the past year?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. A few.”

Lip snorted. “A few? More like a fuckin’ army battalion’s worth.”

It was Ian’s turn to flip his brother off.

“You’ve dated a lotta guys,” Fiona agrees. “And how long have you been messin’ around with Mickey Milkovich?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t know. A while, I guess. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Lip made a face. He didn’t like Mickey. “You’ve been bangin’ that asshole for a few years now, dude. You don’t think that’s its own kinda dysfunctional relationship?”

He shook his head again. “No. We’re just really good at being fuck buddies. No point in giving that up unless I have a reason to. That’s why I see the other guys.”

Fiona laughed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Oh my god! How can you not see it?”

“See what?” he asked, totally at a loss.

She sighed. “You’re totally into Mickey. That’s why it never works out with the other guys. You just keep hookin’ up with other people cuz you’re scared.”

Ian’s brow furrowed deeply. “What are you talking about? I think I’m aware of my own thoughts and feelings in my own fucking head. That’s not what it is between us, you just don’t get it.”

“Oh, we get it,” said Lip. “That guy is the fuckin’ worst, but you can’t get enough of him. You’re so far in the land of denial you can’t even see it.”

Ian stood up from his chair and chugged the rest of his beer down, swaying slightly. “That’s a wrap for me,” he told them, setting the bottle down harshly on the coffee table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

Fiona grabbed his hand as he walked by, so he met her eye questioningly. “It’s okay to have emotions, Ian. Even if you feel shit for someone as fucked up as a Milkovich, it’s better to acknowledge it. Maybe the two of you are the right kinda fucked up for each other. There’s gotta be a reason you never let him go.”

Ian stared at her for a beat, unable to even begin to unravel his feelings on all of this just yet. He pulled his hand away, and said, “See you tomorrow.”

He didn’t text Mickey to invite himself over. He rolled into bed with all his clothes still on and curled into a pillow, thoughts racing a mile a minute as he waited for the sweet release of passing out cold.

He slept in until a bit past noon, and lounged around lazily with his younger siblings until well past sundown the next day. He tried really hard not to think about Mickey at all, and especially not the words Fiona and Lip had said to him last night, even though they just kept bouncing around his brain, echoing the same lines back and forth forever.

The man himself texted him at a quarter past 8 PM: ‘ _Comin’ over tonight?_ ’

Ian read the simple question over and over again, until it was a blur. He bit his lip, deep in contemplation, before finally replying: _‘Yeah. 10 ok?_ ’

He figured he might as well go hang out and prove to himself that his brother and sister were fucking crazy. There was no way he was into Mickey. Not like _into him_ , into him. They seemed to think Ian was in love or some shit, and had no clue about it. That was a complete impossibility. So it made the most sense to go about business as usual, and demonstrate to himself and everyone else, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Ian’s mild affection for Mickey was nothing more than the byproduct of great sex and casual friendship. Those two things had nothing to do with _love_.

And besides, love was a fucking two-way street, right? You couldn’t really be _in love_ with someone who didn’t love you back. And Mickey didn’t _do_ love.

Ian could just picture Mickey’s overly-expressive face if he ever deigned to say some cuckoo-bananas shit like, ‘I love you,’ to him. He was liable to throw a punch, or take Ian by the neck and toss him off the porch right onto the hard concrete. Best case scenario, he’d just laugh in Ian’s face and hurl a few insults at him.

_Love_. Mickey Milkovich? No.

When he reached the house, he knocked and let himself right in, finding Mickey hanging out with Mandy in the living room. So it wasn’t gonna be straight to fucking tonight.

“Hey,” he greeted them both, standing awkwardly in front of the couch, unsure of where he should sit.

He hovered long enough for them both to turn weirded out looks on him.

“You gonna sit down any time soon, or you waitin’ for some sorta formal invitation, firecrotch?” asked Mickey.

Ian blinked dumbly, and sat in the stuffed chair next to the couch instead. Mickey’s look got even more perplexed, but then he turned away.

God, why did this feel so fucking strange? He was letting the random opinions of siblings he barely even talked to about his love life—no, _sex_ life—get under his skin and turn him into some sort of malfunctioning robot. He stared at the table, wondering if it was a mistake coming over there tonight.

A few minutes later, Mickey kicked his foot, and Ian’s head snapped over, “What?”

“The fuck is up with you tonight? You wanna hit this?” He was holding out a bong.

“Oh, yeah,” Ian replied, taking it from his hand.

He met Mandy’s eyes as he took a hit, and she looked bemused as well.

“You got some shit going on at home?” she asked him.

“Nah, I think I just have a bad hangover. Makin’ me stupid.” That was enough of a partial truth that it seemed legit, he figured.

She shrugged and looked back toward the TV, but Mickey was still watching him.

Less than an hour later, Ian was zoned out, only vaguely seeing whatever was happening onscreen, when Mickey’s voice broke through the fog, “Wanna go to my room, Gallagher?”

Ian met his eye. “Okay.”

He followed him back, and as soon as the door was shut, he was pressed up against it, Mickey’s mouth devouring him with relish. Ian closed his eyes, hands automatically settling on Mickey’s waist, leaning forward to get a little bit closer. He felt hands all over his chest and arms, and he slipped his own down to grope at Mickey’s fleshy ass.

The clothes came off with practiced ease, and they stumbled their way onto the mattress, bodies slotting together familiarly. Fingers knew exactly where to touch and with how much pressure; tongues and teeth knew exactly when to lick and nip; cocks and asses knew exactly what foreplay was wanted and needed.

Mickey ended up on his back, with Ian fucking him face-to-face. Watching him from above just seemed a little overwhelming tonight, so Ian buried himself in Mickey’s neck. It helped him refrain from kissing him too much, but Ian really liked the way Mickey’s sweat smelled when it mingled with his earthy body wash, so that seemed overwhelming too. He pulled back and studied Mickey’s lusty expression, eyes tightly shut, mouth slack and wet. Ian really liked seeing him like that. It was the softest, most vulnerable version of Mickey he ever got to be privy to. It was like seeing a completely different person from the one that swaggered around the dirty South Side streets, talking shit and ruffling feathers. There was no gruffness present in this bed, only the lightness of passion.

Mickey’s piercing blue eyes snapped open then, and Ian’s were caught right in their sights. He gasped a little and thrust in deeper and slower, dragging it out. Mickey licked his lips, then bit the bottom one, then moaned brokenly, and Ian almost lost his fucking mind.

He pulled back abruptly, and flipped Mickey over, plunging his dick back into his slightly gaping hole, pulling his ass up in place exactly where he wanted it, so he could pound it harder and faster, until the thrusts were completely unrestrained.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Mickey groaned, pushing up onto his hands so he could grind backward onto Ian’s cock, meeting his jarring slams foward. “Oh my... fuck!”

Ian grabbed a handful of black hair and a hip, and took them all the way home.

They came at the same time, because after three fucking years, their bodies were extremely in sync, and all the strength seemed to leave them both all at once. They each exhaled roughly and fell into a wet pile of jelly limbs on the bed.

Ian waited a couple minutes to pull out, and found himself kissing the middle of Mickey’s back on auto-pilot. Some natural reaction he didn’t even consider before happening.

He rolled over and stared up at the cracked, faded ceiling, swallowing a sudden lump that formed in his throat.

He could hear the sounds of Mickey fumbling around for cigarettes, then lighting up, then tittering as he smoked, “That was fuckin’ great.”

The cigarette was then passed to Ian without a word. He took it and puffed a couple times before handing it back.

They lied there for a few quiet minutes, before Ian abruptly sat straight up, and kicked his legs over the side of the mattress.

He immediately started collecting his clothes from around the room, and throwing them on in haste.

“Uhhh, so I take it you’re not stayin’ over?” Mickey asked from where he was still leisurely reclining on the bed.

Ian spared him a quick glance he hoped looked somewhat apologetic. “Nah, I gotta get up early tomorrow. Fiona needs help with the kids and shit.”

“Okayyy, you could still hang out a little longer. Go one more time?”

Ian had nearly all his clothes on already, like he was in some sort of speed race. He sat down on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks and shoes. “You know I would if I could, but I can’t tonight.”

“Fine then,” Mickey replied, softly kicking at him. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Ian couldn’t help but smile, and turned around to place a quick kiss on Mickey’s lips, before springing off the mattress and opening the door. “See ya,” he said over his shoulder.

“Later,” he heard as the door closed behind him.

He was extremely grateful that Mandy was no longer in the living room, and he could make a quick escape. He needed some fresh air in his lungs, and some solitary time to ponder what the hell he’d just realized.

“Fuck,” he said to himself as he walked home, softly at first, and then louder and louder, “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Turned out he was a fucking idiot after all. A total fucking no good, useless, moron.

His stupid fucking asshole siblings were right.

He couldn’t deny it anymore.

He was in love with Mickey Milkovich.

“FUCK!” He kicked a can clear across the street, shoving his hands into his pockets and picking up the pace.

This was not good.

  
  
  



	2. Complicated

Mickey Milkovich had always been, what you might call, misunderstood. Well, maybe not always. In fairness, his younger persona was transparently one-dimensional, but in recent years he’d done a whole lot of evolving. Yet people still tended to reduce him down to a few easy identifiers: brutish, hostile, dangerous, and other such negative adjectives that denoted cruelty and thoughtlessness. He wasn’t exactly known for having a softer side, but all that shit wasn’t really him anymore.

When it started getting around that he was also a gay man, it seemed so incongruous with all the other common facts about him, that it created a ripple of skepticism and confusion. It was his myriad tough qualities that protected him from being looked at any differently by the many homophobes scattered throughout the neighborhood. And maybe there was a part of him that was kind of proud of being able to challenge their antiquated notions of manliness and how that aligned (or didn’t) with where you liked sticking your dick, or whether you liked taking it up the ass. Not that he flaunted his sexual side. That wasn’t his style. He’d only ever done that back when he still had sex with girls to protect his secret. Those hook-ups, he would broadcast far and wide like it was some big production, with the only real aim of it getting back to his father, so that he’d know that Mickey was knee-deep in pussy just like a straight son should be.

Then one day, Mickey had just snapped.

His dad had been on some shitty, hate-filled rant about the evil, disgusting, homo boogymen that seemed to haunt his waking dreams, and he just would not shut the fuck up. They were at the house, and it was crawling with extended family, celebrating some third cousin’s baptism or some shit, and Mickey had had a few. He still wasn’t really sure exactly what had come over him at the time, but suddenly he’d just stood up, thrown out his arms, and shouted, “Listen up!” All eyes turned to him, and he seemed to hover somewhere above himself, like some out of body experience, as he randomly announced, “I just want everyone here to know… I’m fuckin’ gay!”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed, and he sort of found himself absently rambling, “A big ol’ ‘mo! Just thought everybody should know that.”

For a split second, he actually thought that he wasn’t going to get a reaction out of his fag-bashing father at all. That maybe he’d just walk right out the front door, and not have to face the consequences. But of course, that was a pipe dream. After an eternal ten second stretch of absolute quiet, Terry had let out a redneck battle cry of a yell, heaved the table he was sitting at halfway across the room, and charged at Mickey with all his might.

Mickey managed to get in a couple hits, but if it hadn’t been for his older brothers pulling his dad off, he probably would’ve been killed. Mandy got him out of the house and coerced him down to the free clinic to get patched up. He refused their suggestion to go to an ER for further tests, but appreciated getting some real pain meds prescribed for once. It was cheaper than buying them on the street, and Iggy hadn’t knocked over a pharmacy in a while.

By some stroke of dumb luck, Terry went and got himself locked up for life not long after Mickey’s big announcement. He liked to think he’d been the catalyst that sent his dad on a rage-fueled tear through town in the following weeks. He’d probably been trying to prove that he himself hadn’t lost any of his hetero, manly-man status just because his now-disowned son claimed to be a giant queer. It was unfortunate that some poor schmuck had ended up dying as a result, but that dude had also been a piece of shit, so it wasn’t that big a loss to society, really.

And then they were free. Him and Mandy. His other brothers too, although none of them had ever had it as bad as the two youngest. Soon, the rest drifted off in different directions, and only the two of them remained in their childhood home.

Mandy had gone through some weird-ass ‘witch’ phase in high school, and she suddenly broke out all these silly leaves and incense and shit, and ‘cleansed’ the house. They rented a truck and hauled away piles of shit they didn’t need or want around anymore, including everything in their dad’s bedroom. No one even went in there anymore, it was just a weird storage space that random shit sometimes got thrown into. They’d thought about renting it out for cash, but they didn’t really want some stranger in their space, and neither of them really had any close friends.

That was until Ian Gallagher came along right out of the blue.

One day, Mandy was chattering away about some dude she obviously had a lady-boner for, while Mickey half-listened and kicked her ass at whatever video game they were playing, and the next day, there was some hot, redheaded, model-looking motherfucker sitting on his couch, smiling like a dumbass by her side. He hadn’t gotten it out of her that Red actually batted for his team until the next morning, when Mickey razzed her about staging lame dates in their crappy living room.

Mandy had cackled at the presumption. “As much as I initially wanted to climb that tree, the attraction kinda died instantly when he told me he’s strictly dickly. Now he’s my hot gay BFF. I swear, you never listen to a fuckin’ word I say.”

Mickey certainly didn’t mind being given that interesting bit of information (again), and the next time Ian came around, it was virtually impossible not to stare just a little bit. It would be stupid to come onto some guy that would be hanging around his place all the time, but on the other hand, it would be kind of genius. He just needed to figure out if the dude was even receptive to the possibility. Fortunately, his inebriated sister kept shoving shots at the object of his desire, and soon enough Mickey was getting the eye right back. Definitely down to fuck. Probably. Maybe.

Being pretty tipsy himself, he decided to go for it, and laid his cards on the table that very same night. He hadn’t quite sealed the deal, but Ian was flirty enough back that he felt confident shit would go down eventually.

So as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he’d slyly swiped Ian’s number from Mandy’s phone while she was showering, and solicited that cock. He’d ended up with a very special delivery directly to his doorstep that evening.

And so it began.

  


At first, Mickey was nervous about the idea of someone like Ian being a regular fuck. He’d had regulars before, though none he’d ever given any kind of serious label to or anything. They were mostly guys who knew the drill about being on the down-low in the ghetto. Guys who were used to remaining emotionally detached from the physical. And even though Ian Gallagher was a local, with his own notorious family name, he still had a quality about him that didn’t completely reek of downtrodden desperation. So there was a worry that Ian could be the kind to suddenly think they were boyfriends or some shit, and that was something that Mickey would never be.

That apprehension went flying right out the window as the weeks went by, then the months, and Mickey kept getting in deeper and deeper by letting Ian fuck him too many times to possibly count, and yet nothing in Ian’s attitude toward him ever changed. He’d even made it a point to tell Mickey that they were not exclusive. It was almost weird in the beginning, not because he expected anything else, but just the fact that Ian felt the need to express it so openly. Like, ‘Get it? I’m a player.’

They were lying around, literally just having finished a hot and heavy round of really good sex, when Ian just randomly said, “You know I see other people right?”

Mickey looked at him with his patented ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ face, and raised his eyebrows, “Uhhh… yeah?”

Ian nodded, and grabbed Mickey’s cigarette out of his hand like it was partially his or something, “Good. Good, I just wanted to make sure you knew that. You know, that I’m not looking for this to be more than it is.”

Mickey snatched his smoke back and took a deep drag, “Thanks for the news flash, Anderson Cooper. You really think I thought we were in some kinda relationship? We’ve never even been anywhere together outside of this house, man. I never asked you to go down to the malt shop with me and give me your letterman jacket.”

Ian snorted. “Okay, point taken.”

“I sleep with other people too,” he added, just because it felt like a score that needed to be evened. It wasn’t a lie, really, he _had_ slept with another dude since he’d started hanging out with Ian, but it was only a couple times, and it was only one of his long-time weed-buyers that he had a kind of ongoing understanding with. Ian made it sound like he was out there sucking and fucking a whole bouquet of cocks whenever he wanted, and Mickey was just one of the cocks in the bunch.

So apparently, Mickey was gonna have to expand his game.

“Oh?” Ian asked. “Anyone I know?”

Mickey gave him another stern look. “How the fuck should I know? You wanna compare a list of names or some shit?”

Ian cringed. “I guess not.” He stole Mickey’s cig back. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, and said, “Blow me.”

He looked at Ian expectantly, then looked at his own dick with a little nod. Ian chuckled, pushed him back into the pillows, and went down on him just like he asked.

Their arrangement would work out just fine.

  


It was no secret to anyone, least of all himself, that Mickey was unlovable. Not in a ‘woe is me’ kind of way, or anything. He didn’t feel sorry for himself, or yearn for someone to come along and teach him what love was or some dumb shit like that. It was just a fact. His parents had never been affectionate people, and his brothers never did anything but tease him and beat him up, much like his father, so he supposed he never really knew what love felt like. He liked his sister alright, and would do anything for her, since she was the only family he gave a damn about, but _love_? He didn’t know if he _loved_ her. Didn’t know how you quantified that.

Since he’d never really loved anyone, he figured by now he was most likely incapable of it. Not only would he be unable to identify it, he probably simply couldn’t feel it to begin with. And he was under no delusions that he possessed any qualities that would make anyone else love him. How would that work? He kept people at a safe distance naturally, having grown up with antisocial tendencies, under the thumb of his overbearing, violent dad. He wasn’t exactly out there inviting strong positive feelings into his life. He just kind of survived one day to the next, like he always did, and didn’t put much thought into anything else.

Surviving had gotten a lot easier in recent years, though. He’d stopped getting sent to prison, and even though he still dealt drugs, he was a lot smarter about it, and did a lot less stealing and getting violent. Those were the things that had always put him away before. Without his father ordering him to carry out stupid shit, he was able to use his brains to prevent bad things from happening. He worked part-time towing cars for a lot 15 miles outside of town, so he could say he had a legit source of income, and supplemented it with the drug sales.

He was doing better than he ever had in his life, and that was something, at least.

When he was younger, he thought at this point he’d be married to some bitch wife he hated (and obviously wasn’t attracted to, let alone ‘ _in love_ ’ with), miserable and most likely abusive just like his shitty father had been. He thought he’d be driven to being a representation of all the worst parts of himself and his family. Probably with a bunch of kids he also didn’t know how to love; resenting them all for forcing him to live a lie.

That could very easily have been his trajectory, so he had to be thankful that he was free. He’d never allowed himself to be trapped. He’d escaped.

He was alive, and he was gay, and he could fuck any guy he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, and no one could say shit about it, or beat on him for it. That was a fucking win, right there.

Ian wasn’t his first fuck buddy, but he was definitely the one that lasted the longest. It was weird as hell. It felt like Mickey woke up one day, saw that ginger head lying on the pillow next to him, and realized that years had gone by. Sure, they’d been off and on, so there were occasional breaks in their intimacy, but the fact remained that this thing between them was outlasting every interpersonal relationship he’d ever had with anyone outside of his family. He’d never even had a close friend for more than a year or two when he was a kid. Everyone he hung out with was urged away from him by parents, or teachers, or other kids, eventually.

Ian even being a friend to him for this length of time was odd, but to also be a guy who’d pounded his ass hundreds of times, and still stuck around to do it again… it didn't really add up, or it shouldn’t.

Because Mickey knew this, he wasn’t entirely surprised when the other shoe finally dropped (even though he was a little surprised).

He’d texted Ian one of his usual, casual texts, because he was feeling horny, and Ian was always first on the list: ‘ _What’re you doin’ tonight? Wanna come over?_ ’

Nearly an hour went by before he got a reply: ‘ _I can’t. I started seeing someone, and it’s serious. Not going to be able to do this with you anymore._ ’

Something about the phrasing had a note of finality to it that was never there the times Ian had distanced himself from Mickey before. Usually, he’d say something in person. Something a lot more palatable, like, “I’ve sorta been dating this new guy, and I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stop calling you for a while. See what happens?” That sort of thing. This sounded like a goodbye.

His stomach clenched a little, and he felt a sharp kind of stab in the back of his throat. He stared at the text for way too long, debating whether or not he should reply.

In the end, he waited a couple hours, and shot back: ‘ _Lol. Ok then. Have a nice life._ ’

And that was that.

Only it couldn’t completely be the end of their interactions together, because there was still the Mandy factor. She wasn’t going to give up the best friend she'd ever had, just because that friend decided to stop banging her brother.

For a couple weeks, he didn’t see hide nor hair of Ian at the Milkovich residence, and it seemed like Mandy was suddenly over at the Gallagher house more often than she’d ever been before, but Mickey figured it was probably for the best. If Ian was going to act all high and mighty, all of a sudden, about being some monogamous twat with some asshole, he didn’t need him to come acting like a dick around Mickey’s own house.

But one night, he was going about his business, making himself spaghetti (with proper meat sauce and everything, because he was fucking hellbent on developing some basic culinary skills and spending money on food that actually filled his belly properly), when Mandy came through the door talking to someone. He figured she was on her phone, but then he heard Ian’s unmistakable voice, and tensed, his hand halting above the pan mid-stir, ears straining to hear what they were saying.

“I don’t even think he’s here,” said Mandy.

“The lights are on,” Ian replied.

“So? He leaves shit on all the time. Anyway, we’ll be quick, I just gotta change.”

“Hurry up.” Ian sounded nervous.

Mickey bit his tongue, wanting to yell out something like, ‘Yeah, fuckheads, I _am_ here in my own fucking house. The fuck?’ Instead, he just began stirring the sauce again, and waited for them to leave.

“Oh, holy shit!” Ian cried out, cowering into the wall by the kitchen entryway.

Mickey’s eyes went wide as he turned toward him, but Ian quickly averted his gaze.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Ian continued, clasping his chest like a startled grandma. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Mickey looked back down at his red sauce and all its carefully diced vegetables bubbling within. “Yeah, well, I live here, so… I’m here a lot.”

“I was just… I was gonna grab a drink to go. We’re about to head out. Mandy just wanted to get tarted up first, I guess.”

Mickey shrugged. “Okay.”

A long awkward silence passed, but Mickey could still see and feel Ian’s presence in his periphery. He heard him finally shuffle to the fridge, open it, grab something, close it, walk past.

“I, uh…” Ian started, so Mickey paid him another glance, only for him to look away again. “How’ve you been?”

Mickey almost laughed, but he just let out a small sigh. “Same ol’, same ol’.”

“Good,” said Ian. “That’s good.”

“That all you wanted to say?” he asked.

Ian rubbed the back of his neck, briefly met his eye, then looked away again. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay,” Mickey repeated, gritting a grin, then turning his back so he could chop up a big chunk of ground beef.

A few seconds later he heard the receding footsteps, and leaned both arms on the counter, wondering what the actual fuck.

It wasn’t like they’d never fought before. You couldn’t go three years knowing someone well without getting into it once or twice. But the last time they’d been together, nothing bad had really happened. They hadn’t argued or had any kind of misunderstanding. Ian had acted a little weird, but hadn’t really treated Mickey any differently than usual. This level of suffocating unease was very new, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel. Like some sort of spurned lover, or something. Which he wasn’t. Ian was just doing what he always did. Mickey had always known their time together was temporary. It just so happened that he maybe forgot for a while, because of how long it kept getting dragged out without either of them really noticing or acknowledging it. So this reminder maybe felt like a kind of slap in the face, but he would get over it.

What was one more lost friend?

He tried to put Ian out of his mind. He could swear he’d never spent this much time thinking about him before. It was annoying as fuck to have no control over his own brain, and attempting to figure out what that meant was yielding no results.

One evening, he and Mandy were hanging out in front of the TV, same as they did at least a few times a week, and Mickey’s mouth seemed to just start spouting off of its own accord.

“Who’s the dude Ian’s been seein’ lately?”

He had managed to not embarrass himself by asking his little sister about Ian the entire time since he was given the ol’ brush-off text a few weeks ago, and now here he was breaking his unspoken promise to himself to not play the Mandy card while trying to sort out what the hell happened.

She eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Last time we talked, he said he was on one of his ‘serious relationship’ kicks. Just wonderin’ who the dude is.”

She shook her head. “He’s not dating anybody right now.”

“They broke up already?” He hated the way his heart seemed to start beating faster, and the adrenaline flowing through his veins increased.

Mandy still looked taken aback. “I guess? I don’t know who you're talking about. I don’t think he’s dated anyone else in months.” She paused, then continued somewhat under her breath, “Except you.”

Mickey’s ears perked right up. “We never dated.”

She snorted loudly, shaking her head again. “You two are fucking unbelievable, you know that?”

“What?” he asked.

She sighed dramatically, and turned to face him more fully. “You banged for like, what, over three years? _Three years_ , Mick. But you won’t call it dating, and you both act like it’s whatever, and now neither of you want to be around each other, and _you_ won’t talk about it, and _he_ won’t talk about it, which is _really_ weird, because he usually talks to me about _every_ thing. I just don’t fucking get it. It’s the longest either of you have ever been involved with anyone. That doesn’t just mean nothing. Maybe it doesn’t mean what it means to like, normal people who have healthy relationships full of communication and shit, but it means _something_.”

Mickey sat there with his mouth agape, at a loss for words for once. What she was saying didn’t make any sense. Well, it did a little, but not _really_. Not in the way she was implying. She’d never really understood the way he and Ian were together. She was the type that liked to act like fucking guys was no big deal, ‘slut pride,’ and blah blah blah, but at the end of the day, he knew his sister. She was desperate to be truly wanted and validated. She lived for finding the guys that would actually succumb to her undercover charm offensive. Her flings always had a kind of ulterior motive to them, whereas Mickey’s did not. And Ian seemed to pick and choose who he’d try to take seriously and who he didn’t see the point with.

And that’s when a cold realization hit him, dousing his whole body like an arctic blast.

Something about _himself_ was what drove Ian away.

He’d fucking obsessed for days, weeks really, about what it was he’d done wrong, and he came up short every time. It wasn’t something he did. And now Mandy was saying there wasn’t even another guy in the picture. Ian had lied. And there was no fucking good reason for Ian to lie about that. He just hadn’t wanted to tell Mickey the truth. He’d obviously had some sort of epiphany he’d kept to himself. He wouldn’t even tell his best friend about it, apparently.

So what the fuck was it that Ian had suddenly realized was so terrible about him? There’d always been plenty of questionable stuff to overlook, right from the jump. Mickey didn’t exactly hide his warts, or his scars. He’d never lied to Ian.

But Ian had discovered… _something_ … seen through him and realized it was too much to be around anymore. Or not enough, maybe. He was lacking in some vital way. Well, that much was obvious, seeing as Ian had been searching for better guys to be with the entire time they’d known each other.

Mickey had genuinely never minded that before. It had felt like a relief, even. It kept him fully aware that there were no expectations or promises between them. And that was very freeing. Mickey really fucking valued his freedom, since he hadn’t had much of it until a few short years ago.

But now, for some reason, it felt like a fucking knife to the chest.

So he did what he’d always done to escape his worst lows, and got hammered for a few days straight. He thought about going out and picking someone up, but he’d never felt less sexy. Plus, he probably couldn’t even get it up anyway, on account of all the whiskey.

He did go for a walk, though. He didn’t even know where he was headed, until he realized he was on fucking North Wallace Street, staring up at the shabby-ass Gallagher house.

Before he could second-guess his drunken choices, he jogged straight up the stairs and knocked his fist on the door with clear intent. He’d never come over to Ian’s like this, by himself. He’d never been invited without Mandy, and it was always for some party, or barbecue, or night swim in the above-ground pool.

It was one of the younger ones that answered… Carl. “Mickey?”

“Yo, Ian here?”

The kid gave him a once over and bellowed behind himself, “IAN, IT’S FOR YOU!”

Mickey could hear thunderous steps down the stairs, and suddenly there was Ian’s smiling face. Of course as soon as he saw who it was, the smile slid right off.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

Mickey's eyes flickered between Ian and Carl a few times, before he replied, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Ian patted Carl on the shoulder and pushed him away from the foyer. “Go on, Carl.”

Mickey turned and paced over to a dark area of the porch, listening to the door closing and Ian following him out.

“What’s up, Mick? Everything okay?”

Mickey shook his head adamantly. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and immediately shrugged it off, not wanting to feel that touch right then. He turned back toward Ian, grateful to find his face mostly in shadow, so he didn’t have to see however he was looking at him.

“What is it?” Ian tried again.

“Mandy told me you aren’t datin’ anybody.”

Ian took a step back. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Said you haven’t seen anybody in a long time, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So you lied to me, and I wanna fuckin’ know why.”

Ian sighed and backed up even further, then turned and went to sit on the steps, so Mickey followed, even though he didn’t much feel like sitting.

When the silence seemed to stretch out forever, Mickey turned to him and threw up his hands. “Well?”

“It just seemed easier to give you the usual excuse, I guess,” Ian finally stated. “Knew you wouldn’t question it.”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I already fuckin’ figured that much out. I ain’t that fuckin’ dim. Why’d you have to come up with a lie? What’s the truth?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t think you really wanna know the truth, Mick.”

Mickey let out a frustrated grunt and looked up at the darkened sky. “Stop beatin’ around the bush and tell me what the fuck’s so horrible about me that you invented some story to get away.”

Jesus, he sounded like a whiny little bitch right now. He ran a hand over his face, wishing he could muster up enough self-preservation to just walk away right then, before he could be cut down to size.

He felt Ian’s big hand on him again, this time above his knee, and he summoned all his willpower not to toss it off like an irritated child.

“God, Mickey, that’s not why I… You didn’t do anything, and it wasn’t anything about you that made me put an end to things. It was all me. It’s about my own shit.”

Mickey laughed sardonically. “Holy fuck, are you really givin’ me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech?”

“No,” said Ian. “No… it’s just… I really don’t think you wanna know.”

He looked at Ian once more. “I swear to fuckin’ Christ, Ian… why the hell do you think I’m here? For fun? I hauled my ass over here, cuz I wanted to know the truth. You ain’t gonna say it, then just tell me to fuck off, and I’ll leave you alone like you wanted.”

The moonlight hit Ian’s face just enough for Mickey to see his expression get a bit… watery. He looked almost defeated.

“Fucking fine. But don’t blame me later and say I shouldn’t have said it.” He paused. “I broke it off because after all that time we spent together just being, you know, casual, I started to realize that I didn’t feel so casual anymore. We were always up front about what we were to each other, and what we’d never be, and so… I know you don’t do relationships, okay? I know you wouldn’t want anything real with me. And I never thought this would fucking happen, or that I’d turn around one day and see you in a different way, but… I realized that I liked you. Like, _really_ liked you. Like, wanna be with you kind of like.”

Mickey stared at Ian, completely dumbstruck. Never in a million years had he been expecting Ian to say he blew him off because he liked him too much. Shit was crazier than he could even imagine.

Ian’s eyes darted from side to side, waiting for Mickey to speak, but no words seemed to come.

“I knew that telling you would just fucking freak you out,” Ian continued. “So I guess I’ve proven my theory. That’s why I decided the best thing was to just stop. So we can both put it all behind us and move on with our lives. I mean, it’s obvious to me now that I _do_ want something more with a guy. If it's not with you, then I guess I owe it to myself to maybe start taking shit seriously and see if I can find it with someone else. I thought I was looking before, when I’d date around, but I know now that I was really just running away from what I could’ve had with you. You know, if we were both… on the same page about what we want, or whatever.”

Mickey was still too stunned (and intoxicated) to process all the information flying out of Ian’s mouth. It was like he’d entered into bizarro land. None of this made any sense.

“I don’t think…” he began at last, “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could ever be what you need.” That much was actually true. Sure, he was hurt by Ian’s decision to release him from their unofficial arrangement, but that didn’t mean he was suddenly open to exploring something more official. Unlovable, and all that. Inability to reciprocate emotions. Ian was right. “I’m too selfish and fucked up. Forever alone, remember?”

They smiled at each other a little sadly. “Yeah,” Ian said softly. “I know.”

And so they moved on. 

  


Mickey’d never really been interested in trolling for dick online before, but he was kinda sick of the same old guys from around the neighborhood, gay clubs weren’t exactly his favorite scene, and picking up randos in the park like it was the goddamn 1970s was usually more work than it was worth. So Grindr started sounding really appealing when he thought about it.

That was how he figured out how to move on from whatever the hell it was that he had with Ian. He definitely didn’t spend any time thinking about him or wondering what he was doing now. He never mentioned him to Mandy anymore, and she got the hint and never really brought Ian up either. Eventually, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ took effect. Mostly.

Eventually, he ended up with a couple of new regular lays, and they weren’t half bad. Their purpose was served, and it made Mickey’s life a lot simpler again.

The thing was that he had he’d never really cared before how much downtime he usually had day-to-day, but now it was becoming really obvious just how fucking alone he really was. His sister was around the house a lot less, and only in his prolonged absence, did Mickey finally realize the extent to which Ian had actually become a good friend to him, cavorting between the sheets aside.

It wasn’t lost on him that the dudes he screwed around with now all paled in comparison when he stacked up all the stats. Mickey found himself entertaining the idea of trying to get to know one or two of them a little more, beyond the bedroom. That experiment didn’t get very far, though, because no one measured up. He didn’t particularly like anyone enough to be able to have fun with them. Movie breaks felt uncomfortably stiff, pillow talk was uninteresting and strained, and cuddling was absolutely out of the fucking question.

Chilling alone proved to be a much better option. So he kept things decidedly superficial.

He was stoned on the couch one night, puffing on a cigarette, in the middle of a movie, when Mandy came home with an obvious air of having been at the bar. She tottered over in her silly heels, threw her purse and jacket down on a chair, and flopped down next to him on the couch.

There was no greeting, or warning of any kind, before she blurted, “Ian’s dating some rich guy now.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, his body tensing as unknown emotions ripped through him at the unexpected news.

“He’s kinda old,” she continued unprompted, and that extra information made his jaw clench, and his nose flare. “It’s weird. He says he’s really happy and shit, but I know he’s not. They’re too different.” She paused for a moment. “Not like you and him.”

He heaved a great big sigh, stubbing out his cigarette as he reached for his pipe. “Why the fuck are you tellin’ me this crap?”

He took a hit, and held the pipe away from Mandy’s grabby hand. She smacked his arm repeatedly, until he took one more hit and passed it over.

“I’m telling you, because I fucking know you both really well, and I’m the only one who can see that you’re both being huge-ass idiots right now.” She took a hit and set it down on the table. “And I, for one, am sick of it.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I haven’t even seen the guy in months.”

“Um, yeah, I know that. That’s why you’re both such giant loser morons.”

“Just fuck off, Mandy. Ain’t none of your business anyway.”

“Listen, asshole, cuz I’m only gonna say this once… I was there for your entire childhood, and adolescence, and pretty much your whole fucking life, since I can’t seem to get rid of you. I know we never got a lotta good things like kids should. I know it was harder on you than all the other guys, cuz you always had to hide the gay thing from dad on top of everything else. You and I… we don’t love easy. It’s a fucking miracle we can even love at all. And you may be in extreme denial—I _know_ you’re in extreme denial—but I can tell you love Ian.”

He scoffed, fidgeting with his whole body.

“You _love_ Ian,” she kept on, undeterred, “and Ian loves you.”

He raised an eyebrow, scratching at his chin, and the words left his mouth before he could think better of it, “He tell you that?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t have to. I'm around him _all_ the fucking time. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was heartbroken when he stopped seeing you.”

“We were never together,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever the hell you wanna call it. When you stopped fucking and hanging out _all the time_ , he was depressed as shit. I put two and two together. But when I tried to talk to him about it, he would shut me down, so I let it go. Because I know you, and I know you don’t make things easy on anyone. Figured he had his reasons for staying away. But now, he’s seeing this dude, and I don’t like it. He deserves better.”

Mickey snickered. “You think _I’m_ better than some rich fuck?”

“For Ian, yeah, you are.”

“Mandy, I don’t do… all that relationship shit. Even if I… it doesn’t matter, I just never wanted any of that, and I don’t fuckin’ need it, alright? I’m fine the way shit is.”

“So you’re just gonna bang randoms for the rest of your life, and sit on the couch alone forever?” she asked. “Cuz that’s sad as fuck, Mickey. I know you didn’t ask for it, or even _want_ it, but while you weren’t paying attention, you two dummies fell for each other, and now you’re both being total pussies about it. And I think you really fucking suck for ignoring it… ignoring _him_ … you should fucking do something about it, before it’s too late.”

With that, she shucked off her high heels, grabbed all her things, and retreated to her bedroom, leaving a totally floored Mickey to ponder all the truth bombs his bitchy sister had just dropped on him.

He fell asleep in the living room that night, unable to forget a word she said.

Still, Mickey did nothing. What was there to do, anyway? Whether or not Mandy liked the rich prick Ian was apparently with now, it’s not like Ian would just decide to drop him for Mickey, no matter what he said. And Mickey didn’t really have the words to say anything, anyway. He wasn’t a good prospect. Ian was better off. Mandy would see that eventually, he was sure.

A couple weeks later, Mandy conveniently informed him that she was throwing a party, for no particular occasion, other than she just wanted to. It would be that Saturday, and he wasn’t allowed to veto her decision, because it was her house too. He had no real choice but to let it happen.

At first, he thought about just going out and staying out for the night. Not only would it help him avoid Ian, but it might just give the ginger asshole a little taste of his own medicine, to know that Mickey was probably out there giving it to somebody else. He highly doubted Ian was gonna drag some older boyfriend with money to a house party in the fucking hood, so he wasn’t really worried about that part. In the end, though, the temptation to see Ian again after going for so long without even a glimpse of him was too great to pass up.

No sooner than the redhead had come through the door, did they somehow manage to lock eyes through the crowd, and Mickey’s stomach immediately dropped. He hadn’t been prepared for the sudden intense yearning that possessed his entire body. _Fuck_. He _really_ wanted Ian. Wanted to just touch him again. Hear his stupid laugh. Anything.

But it hurt too fucking much to know he couldn’t go there. Or _shouldn’t_. Whatever it was, he had to stay away.

He was finally able to pry his eyes from Ian’s handsome face, and he grabbed his fifth of whiskey, escaping to his bedroom for a bit to gather his wits. It was gonna be a long night of avoidance and sly ogling from afar.

Apparently Mandy caught onto his tactics, because she popped her head in after 20 minutes of sulking, and sneered at him in that way only she could, “Would you fucking nut up, and get your ass out here? Ian’s not gonna bite. Unless you want him to.” She did a stupid thing with her eyebrows, winked, and disappeared again.

Mickey took a long pull from his bottle, braced himself, and left the room. He took refuge in a corner with his brother, Iggy, his favorite of his male siblings, despite the dimwittedness. He was amusing and low-key, and the only person in the building that it didn’t feel painful to talk to.

If Mickey was hyper-aware of Ian’s presence and position in the room, he did his damnedest not to let it show.

“Who’s the tall redhead you keep eye-fucking?” Iggy finally asked. Apparently, he was less discreet than he thought.

Mickey cringed. “Just some dude Mandy’s friends with.”

“Oh yeah? He keeps lookin’ over here too, though. I think you got a shot with him. You should hit it.”

Mickey stared at his brother like he was some kind of alien being. “Where’d you get the idea that it’s okay to try and set me up with dudes, douchebag?”

Iggy shrugged. “You need to get laid like everybody else, right?”

Mickey shoved him lightly. “I get laid plenty. Don’t need your assistance.”

“Whatever, asshole, I’m just sayin’ you keep lookin’ at him, then when you look away, he looks at you. It’s like some shitty romance crap on the Lifetime channel. Just bang him already.”

With that, Iggy walked away, most likely in search of some neighborhood skank dumb enough to let him get on her. Mickey shook his head, wondering where his siblings found the audacity to tell him what the fuck was up with his own life and who he should be letting into it.

He took one last glance at Ian across the room, where he was busy talking to some people Mickey vaguely recognized as Mandy’s co-workers, and made his way out the back door to have a smoke in peace. The people hanging out outside were all on the front porch, so he didn’t have to make small talk or send anyone away. He leaned against the railing of the small landing that led to the stairs to the backyard and lit up, wondering if he should just take off so he could stop embarrassing himself with all the pansy-ass pining he was doing. It was fucking stupid, not to mention lame. Maybe he’d ask Mandy to take a swing at him after everyone went home. He deserved to get punched in the face. He was pathetic.

He didn’t really hear the door open behind him, and did a double-take when someone leaned into the railing next to him.

Of course it was Ian.

“So… you just gonna ignore me all night then?” he said without pretense.

“Not ignoring you,” Mickey half-lied. Just because he hadn’t spoken to him, didn’t mean he wasn’t constantly paying attention to him.

“Doing a pretty good impression of it, then,” Ian said, and when Mickey didn’t reply, he continued. “Look, I’m sorry about how shit went down between us. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and sent you away that night you came over. I shouldn’t have told you I was confused about my feelings or whatever. Maybe then, we’d at least still be friends or something.”

Mickey found himself as tongue-tied as ever, and he wanted to reach down inside of himself and find the words to reassure Ian. Say something that would magically fix everything that went wrong between them. But he was inept as ever, to no one’s surprise.

The silence grew and grew, and Ian finally sighed and turned back toward the door. “Well, I guess that’s all I wanted to say.” Then his voice got really sad as he said more softly, “See ya, Mick.”

The screen door behind him creaked, and a frenzied sense of panic suddenly rose up in Mickey, knowing that if he let Ian walk through that door, he’d probably never find the balls to make amends.

“I miss you,” he admitted at last, to the night air in front of him.

The door didn’t open, and the screen door hinge squeaked again.

“What?” said Ian, and a beat later Mickey was being spun around by the shoulder, and he finally met those green eyes again. “What’d you just say?”

Mickey bit his lip. He could do this. “I _said_ , I fuckin’ miss you, okay?”

“You do?” Ian sounded so unsure it was almost tragic.

“I said it didn’t I?” Mickey replied. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I shoulda done, but endin’ shit the way we did… I shouldn’t have let you go just cuz you said you liked me. I think I was just startin’ to figure out that—”

“That what?” Ian looked like he was hanging on every word that stumbled out of Mickey’s mouth.

“That I like you too.”

Ian smiled then, but soon frowned. “I’m glad you like me, Mick. I think it’s probly impossible to be close to someone like that for so long and _not_ like each other. And I miss you too. But, I guess… I kinda…”

“Don’t wanna be with me anymore?” Mickey interrupted. “Mandy told me about the rich guy. I know I can’t compete with that.”

Ian shook his head. “That’s not what I was gonna say. He doesn’t really matter, just like none of the other guys ever really mattered. I was gonna say that I sorta held back when we talked that night at my house. I don’t just _like_ you, Mick… I love you. And if you can’t handle that shit, and this is just about missing us having really good sex, then I can’t go back to it. It wouldn’t be fair to me.”

Mickey could swear he felt his heart clench, and all the blood kind of rushed to his head. “You _love_ me?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, I think I do. I _know_ I do. Probly have for a long time now.”

“No one’s ever said that to me before.”

It was the truth. He honestly couldn’t recall anyone ever saying it in his whole life. Not even his mother. Not even Mandy. Definitely not some guy he wasn’t even related to.

Ian reached a hand up to caress Mickey’s cheek. “Well, that fucking sucks, and I’m sorry for that. But I do. I love you.”

Mickey’s breath kind of stuttered, and he could feel his traitorous eyes welling up with tears he did not approve of spilling. “Fuck.” The air just kind of whooshed out of him.

He wiped at his face, and felt Ian take his hand. “Is that okay?”

Mickey stared at the ground for a moment, then looked back into Ian’s eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

And suddenly Ian’s lips were on his again, and it was like he could finally breathe properly for the first time in ages, even as his oxygen was kind of being taken away as their mouths opened, and he felt the slide of the only tongue that felt right against his. The hands they weren’t clasping were gripping the back of one another’s necks, and Ian stepped closer so that their bodies were pressed together too, and Mickey couldn’t get over how fucking _happy_ he felt.

He was getting Ian back. He’d actually gotten the guy to choose _him_. He couldn’t believe it.

They kissed a while longer, and when Ian pulled away, Mickey gazed into his eyes, and without hesitation he was spilling his deepest secret that he’d barely begun to acknowledge to himself in the past couple of weeks, as he slowly deciphered the only thing his lingering feelings could possibly mean.

“I love you too.”

Ian’s wide, toothy grin lit up the darkness around them. He gave Mickey a couple more chaste pecks, and swung their arms a little where their hands were still joined. “That mean we’re together now?”

Mickey shrugged. “Guess I could maybe deal with that.”

Ian chuckled. “Guess I can work with that.”

Mickey smiled. “Wanna go to my room?”

“I could probly be persuaded.”

“You have to stay the night, though. Can’t run out on me.”

Ian shook his head. “Never again.”

Mickey pulled him back into the house by the hand and didn’t let go.

  
  
  


  
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**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos.
> 
> [Tumblr Link](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com)


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